Home Going

Yangthang in snow, Dec 2009

Hurray… I am going home. There is no greater feeling. One thing I hate about having a job is not getting to stay where you belong. But thank god I am a teacher that I get regular vacations. The studently excitement of mid term break and winter vacation die hard and thankfully the right to them is intact in my case.

Over the years everything changed; I have no friends in the village, kids there don’t know me, old people hardly recognize me, even the village itself is unwelcoming after its rebirth from the ashes of February 2002, and at times I get a feeling that I no more belong there. But someone there remained unchanged ever since I could remember, my mother, for whom my heart is fully inclined. She always awaits my arrival at this time of the year, perhaps for the last eighteen years. Today mobile phone keeps us almost together though but home going is something so special that I can never misplace it in the chaos of time and change.

I love to see my mother beam with joy and pride when I am at home. We have stories to share still. This is our best gift for each other. And I wish my sister could realize it sooner. 

My Daughter Forgave Me

That night I failed miserably. She kept looking at me, as if trying to recall why I looked, smelled and sounded too familiar. She even smiled  at me often but every time I went closer she gripped harder on her mother. I saw her effort in trying to remember me as much as I was trying to make her remember.
It reminded me of the many movies I watched of people who lost memory, Notebook in particular. I then tried some filmy tactics; redoing every little thing I did with her, making my signature sounds... but before she could jump on to me it was her bedtime. I was angry and sad and miserable but my wife guaranteed that next morning everything would be fine. And guess what, it was! My darling crawled on to me and demanded me to take her out. Finally she forgave me for the seven days.
But I am afraid how can a child ever forgive their parents who left them for years!

My daughter forgot me in seven days

Last week I was my daughter's favorite person at home, she would cry for me and when she was in my arms she was the happiest. I remember how badly she cried when I left for these seven days workshop. All these week I called home every evening and listened to my daughter's sounds, and she heard me too.

This evening I reached home and I cancelled all my online occupations just to spend time with her but the fact that I am blogging now is my daughter won't come to me. She looks at me a cries bad. She forgot me in seven days, god. I am hurt. All my excitement died for now, but I will work hard to regain her love. And most of all I will never leave her anymore.

Showing Middle Finger at 65

Dr. Low with monkey hanging on her neck at Chukha

At 65 I would be complaining about my joint pains, grumbling about my children, carrying loads of medicine and worse of all doing just nothing, simply waiting for death. Or may be not; I can change that today! I sat down listening to Dr. Low’s powerful lecture and breathtaking presentations on dreaming big. My thirst for seeing Shiv Khera in person is quenched after these two days of workshop with 65 years young lady.

Her part of the workshop was actually meant for principals but since the last minute adjustment excluded them she carried on with us, and thank god she did. It wasn’t a classical workshop where we wait for the tea breaks and lunch break and eagerly fill up the allowance bill and then rush back home. We thank god that we were here.

Dr. Low inspiring People back in Singapore

She didn’t appear 65 in anyway; she emits rays of energy, happiness and satisfaction.  She dances, jumps, puts her foot on the table, shows her middle finger … She makes us laugh our lungs out, makes us play some funny games and puts us in deep realization and then gives us the want to do things that we dare not wish for. She is a living example of a person who dreamed big and let dreams happen.

If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; there is where they should be. Now, put foundations under them       - Henry David Thoreau

At 65 I don’t want to complain about my joint pains, grumble about my kids and survive on drugs anymore, I want to be strong enough to show my middle finger, run and scream with my grand children, help my children in buying their first cars, go on vacation with my wife and be a source of happiness to people around me. And it all starts now with a vision.

Note: Dr. Low Guat Tin is from Singapore, she is a trainer of managers. She is here in Bhutan to facilitate a workshop for Singapore International Foundation’s project in Bhutanese Schools.

Tshimalakha: Place Frozen in Time and Hidden in Fog

Foggy Evening View

I have been to Phuntsholing more than I have been to any other Dzongkhag, but because road runs straight down through Tshimasham and I didn’t have reason to divert away from the highway I could never come to this place I am at. Thanks to this workshop which brought us here.

Tshimalakha was muffled in dense fog when we reached here yesterday, not so surprising since I always heard about the place. But reaching here and seeing the place for myself made me realized how much I have assumed. When the fog disappeared this morning I was startled by almost everything, the place is so unique from the rest of the places I ever been to. Of course the whole place came in at once when Chukha Hydro project was on. Nobody passing by the highway would expect such a huge settlement hidden in the heart of the hills.

The place defines a time period in the history of Bhutan, and today when I look at the place I see the time frozen on the face of the structures still standing. Sometimes the so many old building standing against the force of time gives an impression of a world that has survived a nuclear war. I suddenly feel a sense of attachment to the place, as if I have been here before. I love this place so much but I won’t like to live here.

I Am a Satisfied Hubsonther

What is hubsonther? You might not have heard the word ever because I could only create it a week ago. Three torturing hours of invigilation duties throughout last week gave me room for meditating on a family concept I had in mind for quite sometime. Hubsonther is a noun. It is a stage in a man’s life when he is a son, husband and father together. It also refers to a man in this stage and therefore I am a hubsonther. By now you must have made out the three words I integrated; (Hub)by (Son) Fa(ther).

Hubsonther Family Tetrahedron

Last month when my mother came to visit me I took my family out several times. During these visits to our regular places I would introduce my mother to the local friends and then I would jokingly introduce my wife and daughter too (whom they already know). Then I realized that I was a hubsonther and I silently beamed with pride.

Hubsonther is the most challenging period in a man’s life; having to please three different generations of people. My mother remained my highest priority ever since my childhood and she is proud of me for making her proud year after year. There are hundreds of stories my mother would share about me back in village. And that makes me a good son.

Wife is someone you choose from among the strangers and give her the best place in your life but often people land up growing distant from their bloodline after marriage in process of pleasing that one woman. But the fact of life is you only get to choose wife in life, not your mother, father or siblings not even your children. Therefore marriage is more than your personal love. Love is blind and often selfish therefore leave it aside while dealing with something as serious as marriage.

I have known my wife before I loved her, which is why she is a gift to my mother and when my mother appreciates the gift that becomes blessing for my wife. That is not an easy task to bring two women of different generation into harmony. Rest is all in my hand to be a responsible husband and I have often overheard my wife talking about her happiness with her old friends over the phone. And that makes me a good husband.

I am my step son’s best friend in all aspects; we share common interests and ideology. He appreciates me and I envy him except his carelessness in studies. We are on the same side every time we are into family debate against his mother. My daughter is just too small to comprehend my love now but I am confident that she will be proud to call me father when she grows up. For now I am giving up on all my personal ambitions just to be by her side every night. She already acknowledges my presence and I feel like I am a good father.

Tetrahedron Chick here for source

Mathematically hubsonther is a tetrahedron, the four triangular faces representing my mother, my wife, my children and I in perfect fit, with every side attached to the other three sides equally. I won’t like myself to be a better son than I am a husband, or better father than I am a son, I wish to be equally good in all three just as the geometric shape illustrates. Tetrahedron is one of the most stable three dimensional shapes just as my family is and that gives me unlimited pride and satisfaction. Thus I declare I am a satisfied hubsonther.

We are more than race winner sperm

Are we still like them?

Unlike twins where the winner trophy is shared by two sperms, all the rest of us are proud race winner from among 50 million sperm cells that took part. But now that we are born we should keep aside our spermish behavior, we are more than that. We ain’t at race anymore. We must get of the race track and head for the refreshment stall. Start living.

Picture Source: scienceline.org

The Farm Road that became Riverbed

The Farm Road During rainfall. It could be worse!

The farm road above our residence, climbing steeply towards Bajo Lhakhang, and now even extending as far as Matalungchu is a big threat to natural environment. Ever since it was built a few years ago it never saw water drainage along its sides. The road itself served as riverbed during the monsoon. Worse, farmers use it as their irrigation cannel in times of cultivations, paving deep drains at different sections and blocking the road. They would justify that there were these provisions even before the road was thought of.

The road is speeding the process of land degradation at an alarming rate; Bajothang School has so far diverted enough energy on removing tones and tones of sand from hostel and football ground, and now the building which has unfortunately become school staff quarter. However we have never had time enough to bother beyond our school campus. The massive amount of sand degraded so far comes from the hill above would have taken hundred years in its natural process.

Bajo School Football ground in 2009

School being an organization responsible for educating children has no authority, capacity or experience in addressing this issue. The most we could do and have done so far is clearing the sand and reclaim our property. Having faced several bad experiences we have devised a huge drain to withstand and route out the heavy flooding. We have plans to build wall below the highway, the point between the end of farm road and the school campus to defend our school but the bigger issue is at large.

The Grand Canyon (source:naturescrusaders.files.wordpress.com/2009/05)

The farm road needs well designed drainage or may be the road itself needs redesign in accordance with the topography of the landscape. The last option may be to shutdown the road, after all it is more used by water than vehicles. Otherwise, in few years time we may get to see something like the Grand Canyon and by then Bajo Lhakhang and Bajo School would be history.

World Cup is a global event and not an African festival

I silently rejoiced the failure of South Africa squad to enter the second round of World Cup finals though I have high regard for the Nelson Mandela’s country ever since my high school age. I was even overjoyed back in 2006 when South Africa was chosen as the next World Cup venue. But ever since the onset of 2010 World Cup finals my love for the African nation faded in heavy chaos of Vuvuzela.

 Photo source:vuvuzelasouthafrica.co.za, forgive the integration of center vuvuzela.

Vuvuzela is actually a graceful cultural piece as I was in Hollywood movie Bones but it is far from pleasing when blown in crowd of thousands. It must be their tradition but tradition should not be ruthless. Despite the protest of millions across the world and even the players themselves South Africans selfishly turned their deaf ears. They should realize that the World Cup is a global event and not an African festival. They terribly failed in making 2010 World Cup in their country a memory worth cherish-able for the rest of the world.

Moment you put on the television either the sleeping babies are woken or elders are made restless, and without an option we have to either put off or watch it muted, murdering the very charm of the game.

South African team was doing well but the vuvuzela blew them out right in the first round and I sadistically loved it. I even loved the cameramen for not showing a single glimpse of vuvuzela during the entire tournament so far. When the news channels do show people with vuvuzela pressed hard against their lips I can’t help wishing if all of those turned into penises right into their mouth.

Lost Path

Lost Path under sand.

It was raining the whole night and it got me worried. The new building I shifted in lately already experienced flooding twice. The rain had stopped in the morning. I looked through the window and saw that the footpath was lost again. Thick blanket of sand had surrounded our building.

Punatshang chhu is huge and everybody knows that one day it will flood the valley badly. Major concern has been diverted towards reducing the risk if in case the worst happens. No matter how much Bhutan tries not to warm the global temperature the big countries are carrying on with their deadly activities. The glacier lakes feeding the Punatshang chhu are growing by the day like a ticking time bomb.

However I am sad to discover that Punatshang chhu and the glacier lakes had nothing to do with what brought the sand around our building. I personally witnessed the second flooding. The source was the farm road that leads uphill above our home. The road is otherwise dry and dusty. But when it rains it becomes a riverbed of ragging water down stream that hit highway and spills over into our area. It carries heavy load of reddish sand and deposits it into our drainage system, blocking all outflow. If it rains again before we could clear the earlier sand there is no way we could save our rooms from flooding.

Making room for the next load of sand

While we worry about that one day when the Punatshang Chhu will flood, the farmroad flash flood has already threatened us thrice. The big question to answer is, whom should we fear more?

World Cup outside Exam Hall

Forget the exam, Focus on the ball.

Tomorrow morning these kids will take their best pens and enter the exam hall to write what they have learnt in these five months. By the way what did they learn? As far as the learning is concerned they did a lot. But exam a totally different story; it is time to write what is in the book. God knows, if it is enough to conclude how much they learnt. And if it is the book things that they are supposed to read and reproduce tomorrow what are they doing in the paddies with football? Like I said last time, students know that exam happens twice or thrice a year but World Cup is a four yearly event, which should not be taken lightly.

Free Pen Carrying Message with Irony

I was in the Dzong yesterday for clearing up some official mess. One of my CE students working in accounts section insisted on taking me for lunch. The rustic canteen served good meals and attracted every official from the Dzong. Among them was a lady who distributed pens among us. It was a nice pen I got. It took us some time to discover that the pen had glossy scroll that can be pulled like a rubber band. Upon reading what was one the scroll I found out it was from National Environment Commission of Bhutan to spread their message on critical issues like "Save Water", "Reduce Waste", "Reduce Air Pollution", "Save the Forest", "Say NO to ozone Depleting Substance". It carried another page of information on the back page with the heading "Help save our Environment" with the mention of Article 5.1 of the Constitution of Kingdom of Bhutan.

The Irony: The pen is made of plastic, including the scroll inside. It must take about three plastic bags to make pen of this size and quality. Again there must be thousands of such pen freely distributed. Now tell me how can I "Say NO to ozone Depleting Substance" when it is such a nice pen given by a cute NEC lady herself. Or is she checking our ethics?

However, I am thankful to the pen giver lady. This pen is meant for teachers; we can overwrite our class timetable on the scroll. Of course I finished reading the message already. 

My Brother Left his Job

Sonam excitedly agreed to work while he waited for his exam this winter. He was lucky to be employed by a private mini industry right away as a site supervisor. I envied his job; he only has to look after the labours and study his syllabus. His employer promised two months exam leave and paid him Nu.6000 for just being there. Housing was provided for free.

Sonam (left) with senior colleague at the work site

It has been over three months he has been working there and I saw my brother brimming with pride as he discussed his work stories with us during his Sundays at home. He was often taken out for lunch by his boss and it was going on so well.

But suddenly he became ill and had to come to hospital. It happened almost every week. And last weekend his back started aching bad. He couldn’t rise easily once seated. I found it out during one of my casual visits to his site. I brought him home and asked him to call his boss for leave but he told me that he had informed his colleague on the site do it for him.

Monday morning he was feeling better and I insisted him to go to work. When he called his lady colleague on site she informed him that the boss has asked him to put up resignation letter and he flatly agreed. I knew it was misinterpretation by the girl and misunderstanding by him but no matter how much I negotiate with him there was no moving forward. His ego was badly hurt.

Later that evening I found out that I was right; boss has just said he may resign if he didn’t want to work. The girl didn’t inform the boss, nor did she tell about my brother illness when the boss asked. She simply said he had gone home. It took me the whole evening to explain to my brother the right meaning of his boss’s words and upon failing to get it through I had to narrate what I had to go through as early as sixteen. He is past twenty and I am there for him but when I was struggling I had no one to help me; I was hungry all my elementary school days, at sixteen I worked in construction as labour and by nineteen I was sending home money as apprentice teacher.

Next morning he was up early and ready to go to work. I dropped him at his site and even gave my piece of mind to the girl. The boss was on his way and I didn’t have time to wait for him. I just said my brother was sick and now he is back over the phone. Toward the afternoon I was told that my brother has packed his thing, and only thing I could do was to go and get him home.

The boss it at the site then, he apologetically shook my hand and explained why he said what he had said. He said my brother was straight forward, shy and a good human being but he being a student may have bigger dreams, he wanted to resign. I thanked him for employing my brother and apologized on behalf of my brother for leaving work in the middle of the work season. He finally told me that he wanted a permanent worker, whom he could train and keep through out. I told him I have bigger dreams for my brother.

I brought my brother back and asked him to focus on his studies. I didn’t let my brother work for money alone; I wanted him to learn how life is like for a half educated man. What he had gone through this time could be his fate forever if doesn’t study well this time; throwing himself at a mercy of someone. He has set up his study table firm and was on it through out this morning. He saw his life, he wants to change it!

Green Car: a car truly for Bhutan

REVA in Bhutan!

I saw the cute electric car commuting in Thimphu often and it got me wondering. Only last night’s “Jurwa” program on BBS enlightened me. I was amazed by the speed it could travel at on battery; 80 km per hour. Once fully charged it could take you 80 km far and at the end of the journey you could happily plug it up at home, without having to waste tie going to fuel pumps and never having to worry about the ups and downs of fuel price. At the top of advantages list stands its zero emission feature, car truly meant for green Bhutan.

What makes driving difficult on a regular car is the clutch and gear system, which are not there on this green car making it more attractive. Your left foot can be at rest at all times and when your right foot shifts from accelerator to brake the battery gets recharged, amazing! No noise pollution at all, which means you can sneak out of home without your children’s notice, making office going all the more easier.

But the car is small and looks like a toy, as if it was meant for kids. This external design was not taken seriously at all. You can’t help smiling when an adult drives it. Like lynpo Nado Rinchen pointed out, it should have three standard seats at the back for Bhutanese to find it practical. While Lynpo’s ideas of encouraging Bhutanese by giving incentives such as 1.Tax free 2.No parking fee and 3.Regrestration fee exemption are very bright, the car maker should reconsider its design according to Bhutanese ego.

REVA NXR- Better option!

We Bhutanese are known for showing off; we are always worried “what people would say?” It is no exception even during funerals; we want the most number of cars joining the convoy, excluding the small cars. We borrow clothes for festivals. Some pay Nu.70,000 for a dress they can only wear once a year. Santro, Alto and Maruti 800 cars are called kanchi cars in Thimphu, among the Prados and Mercedes. So the maker should make it big and stylish, money no problem.

On the economic ground, who would want to invest Nu.345, 000 in a toy-like car when we can easily buy a standard one at the same price? Of course we fail to realize that an average car consumes more than Nu.75, 000 worth of fuel and gear oil a year, which will be Nu.375,000 in five years, price of another car. While the green car can be charged for free even at your aunt’s place.

Sources of the two pictures are linked to the picture themselves. Click on them.

Breast Envy

In Sigmund Freud’s psychosexual development theory there is an interesting phrase that describes a girl child’s desire for penis, and the power that it represents. This is described as penis envy. I ain’t Freud’s fan a bit; everything in his theory sounds crazy but I own a strange feeling that no word could describe, and which somehow relates to his penis envy concept. 

After I became father I started wondering why I can’t breastfeed my daughter. I shared my funny state of mind with Germaine, a Singaporean friend, who inspired me with stories she read about male breast feeding being possible in some scientific research papers. It is known as male lactation.  She gave me a few living examples including a western doctor and a Hollywood actor. I tried a few times myself but my daughter would look at my face and smile away. 

It is too much a job for a mother to carry the baby for nine months in her belly, suffer the near death experience of delivery, and still having to sooth the baby every now and then, even in the middle of night. What are fathers for? Gone are the days when fathers go out in search of food, now a days if father puts the bread on the table it is mother who puts the butter. But god needs to redesign the human anatomy. Why did he have to give both to woman after all, what if the mother passes away? Why did he have to give two little nipples to man when he had no intention of filling it up?

My daughter likes playing with me, knowing I could lift her higher than her mother do and take her places out of home. But every now and then she looks for her mother despite my hardest effort in pleasing her. When she wakes from her naps I love being by her but she would cry as if she saw a stranger, only her mother’s presence would make her smile. She can spend days without me and that makes me feel inferior. I am almost unnecessary in my daughter’s growth. If only I could breastfeed her I would feel like a complete father.

Cc: to God, for necessary action.

Butterfly

I was dying to own a professional camera but looks like I have to wait for sometime. While I wait my friend Yam let me use his camera for about two weeks. It was like dream come true. I got plenty of great shots of my family, especially my daughter's. The following two are my first try on something different.

Caught in my Aunty's garden

Potted Flower attracts Butterflies too!

World Cup verses Mid Term Exam

Of all months in the year FIFA had to choose June for World Cup finals. It’s exam time here in Bhutan, but who cares? I do. We have more football fans in our school than students. This morning the exam time table was put up on the notice board but they already have the World Cup fixture occupying their walls. Every student walks with the notion that the world Cup is bigger than exam, it happens once in four years, while exam happens every now and then.

If I were a student myself I would have already finished my revision, or may decide to ignore the league round, and enjoy finals after the exam is done well. On the other hand some are already busy putting bets. When the World Cup is over, only thing that will bring joy to a student’s life is the exam result, for Cristiano Ronaldo wouldn’t even know there exists a country call Bhutan forget about boy who cheered his every move wearing Portugal jersey late into nights.


As of myself, I have already written an application of request to my wife for the possession of TV remote during the entire world cup season. And because she doesn’t watch serials at all, I got lucky. But my worry will be residing in the next room, over his study table keenly listening to the commentaries and celebrating the goals. My son is the biggest football fan I know, and I don’t know how far his mind will be on his book during the exam.
I bet for Argentina!


Photo Source: bleacherreport.com

My Daughter tasting the first spoon of food

My Darling Sitting Up!

Tonight at 9PM my daughter will be 6 months old. And this morning she tasted the first spoon of food in her life. Her mother and grandmother excitedly enjoyed feeding her, I missed the moment. But this afternoon I watched her during her lunch. She got irritated when her mom took forever in preparation; she was screaming and licking her lips as she saw the bowl coming. Surprisingly she cleaned it thoroughly and was ready for more. She has been hungry for last six months. We fought the temptation of feeding her for so long. My mother tells me that I was fed the very day I was born. It’s our achievement that we could hold on so far.

There were a few exceptions we had to give ourselves; we used diaper in the first week, we has to give her pcm often, we put her in the walker when she was five months and we already started carrying her on our backs. There is right time for everything, but the right time depends on whom you are listening to. So often we decided when the right time is. Of course we would have avoided the medications but there was some unfortunate period in my darling’s life; she was ill and suffering from fever and pain in her neck, which is when we couldn’t help. I thank the doctors in Bajo BHU and JDWNRH and most of all my doctor friend on Facebook, Dr. S. Pradhan.

Today, as my daughter becomes half a year old I am happy to have my mother with me. My mother watches her granddaughter speeding around the room in walker and unscrewing whatever gets into her way. She makes different sounds in different moods and won’t leave us bored. She can already recognize her mom, father, brother Jigme and uncle Samten. She will remain silent if someone other than us picks her up, then if she is no released soon she will cry, but to my pleasure she doesn’t mind my mother.

My Sleeping Child!

One major question is answered today after she emptied the blow of rice soup, i.e. 6 months is the right time to feed your baby. There were other questions like, when should we start bathing her? When should we start using diaper? When can we wear her pants? When is the right time to use pillow? Can we use pacifier after the second month? When can we put her in the walker? When should we start feeding her? We passed all these questions. Now comes the next section of questions: When can we give her solid food? Is it ok to give her vegetables after seventh month? When can we let her walk on her own? What is the first sentence that we should be teaching her? And My personal best question is, when can I start teaching her English Literature and abstract Art?

Potato and chips story

In school there was a popular joke about Bhutanese way of doing business; we sell a kg of potato for Nu.5 to India and same potato will be fried into chips and sold back to us, only this time we pay Nu.5 per potato. But the serious part of this joke is those highland potatoes are second to none.

I remembered this joke from my childhood on seeing one news on BBS. A bold lady has initiated a green program of recycling papers. She is receiving impressive support from government offices and schools in Thimphu. Of course, who would not want to give away their waste? She is spreading happiness by creating employment, taking care of others’ waste, dealing with environment problem and still making money herself. Hope she will receive recognition for role in reducing waste and pollution.

You might wonder why I remembered a joke on such a wonderful act. Well she is not recycling the paper. She is just sending it out. When I saw jute bags full of papers ready for loading, I wondered how much would each bag fetch. Not more than Nu.100 or Nu.200. There in each bag should be enough paper to make 100 Notebooks, and when it comes back to Bhutan after recycling we will be paying them over Nu.5000. Fifty folds! That’s beyond potato and chip story.

Bhutan will never make microchips or jetfighters but history tells us that we were the makers of world’s strongest paper. We have the history but we failed to move forward. We are still making world’s strongest paper but with technology we used 100 years ago and at the same old pace- hope this is not what we call preservation of culture.  Jokes apart, we need not make the machine to make paper, a country can afford to buy one and contribute toward socioeconomic development.

How long are we going to go on doing potato and chips business?

27 Years in Teaching and Divided From Family- My Aunt's Story

One Saturday, during my regular weekend visit to my aunty at Punakha she showed me a certificate from 1990. It was awarded to her for successful completion of NAPE course then. What is surprising is that the certificate was wrongly addressed and she just got it from her contemporary after 20 years. The paper was neatly kept and looks as fresh as it was delivered this morning, though in these many years my aunty has become grandmother to two granddaughters. Perhaps now you can guess how many years she served as teacher.

She is new in Punakha and houses in Kuruthang are not at all welcoming. She has lost some weight over the week climbing to the tiny room beneath the roof. We scanned the whole town with all the relatives we have around in search of a decent house, and this is what we had to agree with; a three unit attic with lights coming in only through the transparent roof. The new place and the tiny house have stolen away my aunt’s soul. She looked defeated and depressed, and that’s why I always find time to give her company with my family.

Twenty five years ago, or ten years ago if she was posted to Punakha it would have been very usual and she would have taken it with joy. At this age when joints start paining it is hard for her to believe that she has to move out of Thimphu on compulsory transfer. It is a policy well thought over by the ministry when it comes to making it fair for the system but what about the humane side?

Many of her mates are directors and secretaries, a few are even ministers now, sad but true some have passed away but she is still living and teaching. Recently she tells me that even her students are there among directors and secretaries, sadly they won't remember her because she taught them in PP. Young teachers have new system in place whereby there is a strong career ladder. If it was there during her time by now she would be reigning somewhere on the top. But since 1985 she has only grown horizontally. She has no complains. She knew her service is delivered and therefore would be acknowledged. Not in her wildest dream did she see herself being punished for 25 years of service.

Her children suggested her to resign and take rest because she has already shown sign of wearing of her lung and vocal cord from quarter century of shouting with little children. Money has never been their problem and will not be, now that uncle earns triple his old salary with the new job and their daughter is in job. It is about dedication to work. With her degree of perseverance and experience I would be expecting a medal of honor from the ministry and not punishment.

Why am I calling it a punishment? My aunty and uncle are all by themselves far from the crowd of Thimphu. They planned the cottage on their own to spend their old age. Uncle is in late fifties and worse he is a bad cook. Tears welled in my eyes when he started learning how to cook last winter after aunt’s transfer was confirmed. Their three children are away on job and studies. Uncle may be used to staying alone from his lifelong experience in arm force but not hungry. If he falls sick there is nobody around to offer him a cup of water.

On the other side of Dochula my aunty, who has always lived in crowd of children, has to sleep with TV still on, she is a good cook but with her husband surviving on Maggie she can hardly enjoy a meal. She is overweight and very much vulnerable to sudden illness. But if she wishes to lose weight now, her wish is granted already. I have never been old so far, therefore I don’t know how true it is when old people say they feel lonely. If it is true I feel sorry for them that the system has made it worse.

Writer’s Note: With this article I don’t mean to question the policy because I know any policy is bound to hurt some people. It must look at the majority, for even God himself couldn’t create something that could please everybody. I only wrote it in sympathy and love for my aunty.

My WAB Dream

Recently we have started a Facebook group following our idea of building the Writers Association of Bhutan. Good responds we received inspired us to begin a blog. With this two we are in search of people who love writing, who can inspire us with their passion and who can lead us through our dream of having a formal association.

The blog has just begun and we have five writers so far, we are looking for interested writers to come forward and be our part. It's a long dream and just daring is enough right now.

I wanted to share my dream of WAB with my readers here, but I have it already posted on the WAB blog and therefore I urge you to go there once and see if you can help us.

My WAB Dream

Well I am still waiting for my writers to break the ground but looks like they are all looking for something substantial to start with, probably they think this is not for their casual writings. But I must clarify that this is indeed the place for anything and everything you have on your mind. Until you decided what to write let me give my piece of mind about the association.

I know it will take time but I am just happy that it has begun. When we first discussed the Idea of the association the first thing that came to my mind was promotion of writers and assisting them with their publication. Where will the money come from? We will figure that out, which is why we are grouping. Writing is one thing and struggling to get it publish is another which puts an end to the first one. Many of us might have been victims ourselves. ...

Read the rest on http://writersassociationofbhutan.blogspot.com/

ReBlog: Leave Applications

I know there are some articles I am yet to write but forgive me I forgot them all. I sat here hundreds of times to write something but suddenly I feel empty. So, until I get rid of this block I would like to make some of you laugh the way I did when I read this email from Wangchuk Bidha:

A GNM from JDWNRH: Applied for leave as follows:

"Since I have to go to my village to sell my land along with my wife , please sanction me one-week leave." 

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This is from a Primary Teacher-a keralite: who was performing the "mundan" ceremony of his 10 year old son:

"as I want to shave my son's head , please leave me for two days.."

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Another gem from NEC-Thimphu, Leave-letter from an employee who was performing his daughter's wedding:

"as I am marrying my daughter , please grant a week's leave.."

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From Administration section of MoHCA:

"As my mother-in-law has expired and I am only one responsible for it , please grant me 10 days leave."

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Another employee from BBSC applied for half day leave as follows:

"Since I've to go to the cremation ground at 10 o-clock and I may not return , please grant me half day casual leave"

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An incident of a leave letter:

"I am suffering from fever , please declare one-day holiday."

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A leave letter to the headmaster:

"As I am studying in this school I am suffering from headache. I request you to leave me today"

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Another leave letter written to the headmaster:

"As my headache is paining , please grant me leave for the day."

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Covering note:

"I am enclosed herewith..."

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An official rely from MoLHR to a businessman:

"Dear Sir: with reference to the above , please refer to my below..."

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Actual letter written for application of leave by an MP (DPT):

"My wife is suffering from sickness and as I am her only husband at home I may be granted leave".

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Letter writing by my son:-

"I am well here and hope you are also in the same well."

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A perspective candidate's job application:

"This has reference to your advertisement calling for a ' Typist and an Accountant - Male or Female'... As I am both(!! )for the past several years and I can handle both with good experience , I am applying for the post.

How was it? I don't know whose brain is behind this piece... whom ever it may concern, thank you for the laughter

Bangkok Disappointed Me...

I wasn't happy when I knew we were flying straight to Singapore without a day halt in Bangkok. I heard of the grourious city from every Bhutanese who has ever been there and I was only seeing it from the airport. During my week long stay in Singapore I was dreaming of the day I will land in Bangkok. I wanted to see the city for myself, I wanted to go shopping, explore the magnificent streets and malls, meet angel like girls, go to the beach and have a wonderful night in Bangkok after the sleepless week in Singapore!

And finally the day came, we were flying to Bangkok and this time we have a day to stay there. I envied Kuenga who had already extended her stay in Bangkok by a few days more. She had her brother studying there. Kuenga is a teacher from Drukgyel, who was among the 14 other teachers on the trip.

My excitement started dying the moment we walked out of the terminal, we had to rush for taxi under the intense heat. We had to repeat out address to the driver for eternity and finally he took us to a wrong place. The sights along the long road to our hotel gave me an impression of indian road along phuntsholing samtse highway. Damn, one piece of dust got into my eye and that bugged me the whole afternoon. My eye was conditioned to amazingly dust free Singapore already and it forgot its natural reflex.

We entered the city and I wondered if that was the same Bangkok people talk about. It was no better then Jaigong, messy, overcrowded and disorganized. I already wanted to leave. but there was more to experience when we finally got to the right address. Kuenga's brother had kindly booked us in Rangnam Apartment, a very popular place for Bhutanese visitors.

It was a nine-storeyed building with an almost broken lift. Our room has a toilet attached and a bed with mattress, and also a gigantic AC hanging over the bed, which may fall anytime. When it is put on it sounds like car, but thanks to it we were spared from being cooked. Apartments are by default this way, we should be occupying it like we rent houses. I don't know why we didn't go for a hotel instead. And guess what, this is where our Bangkok-goers spend their vacation, I would prefer my hostel in high school.

No taxi would take us to Puntip Plaza, because it happened to be too close and we had to walk. By now 'we' meant only three of us. Rest were gone. Three of us were hungry and tired but we couldn't find a place to sit. Roads are impossible to cross with heavy traffic. If we didn't find the rest of them soon we may even lose our way back to the appartment. We ask everyman on the road for direction but they all sounded like dumb. God even students can't speak english.

We got there finally and caught up with our friends but by then the whole charm of shopping was gone. I had plenty of electronics on my shopping list but people come from every corner of the mall with pronographic CD and ask us to buy and after a while I forgot everything.

In the midst of confusion two of us were singeled out and confronted by a tourist who wanted to know about Bhutan. He wanted to see our currency and it's value. God, later we knew that everybody in our group was awear of this except the two of us. The tourist disappeared into the crowd after fiddling with out purse. My friend checked his purse later to find $300 are missing. From that moment I hated every tourist I met. I didn't want to be kind to any stranger anymore.

Kuenga had planned out our shopping places, she has already been here several times. She was going to take us to three different places, which probably would be all that can be possible. But the tuktuk drivers are one hell of people. They want to take us to their choice of place first, upon us disagreeing with them we landed up paying them so much.

Only Big C cheered me up later in the evening. It was a grand shopping mall with AC and without anybody to bother. I did a lot of shopping for my daughter and wife, there can't be a better palce than this. Thanks to Kuenga and her brother who made sure we were not lost again, who took charge of our group and gave us time to rest and shop.

rest too be written...soon...and correction in process.... 

Singapore Entry: Bigger than Dream

I need some time to sit and write....wait...

Coffee Maker and the Blogger

I saw my father’s picture only in my high school, I always imagined him. He died in a bus accident when I was one.  But the bigger surprise is that I saw one of my uncles just last summer. I have always known him though. He would send us clothes when my mother visits him during the annual puja in our ancestral home. He has two sons and a daughter- my never-met cousins.

After meeting asha last summer I knew he was a great man. I always thought he was too rich to connect to us anymore, but I was wrong. It’s just that we didn’t meet. He would at times drop at my place for a cup of tea and talk down our bloodline I never knew about.

And last Saturday asha called me up to invite my family to his granddaughter’s birthday. There I saw two of my three cousins for the first time. I was anxious about how to break the ice but luckily my cousin brother Karma happened to be a very comfortable person. 

Just between our handshake and introduction he recognized me, (Do you keep a blog?) He said he follows my blog.  Not long after that I remembered “Karma’s Coffee” in Thimphu. I heard a lot about the shop and the coffee maker “Karma” and there he was talking to me. He was a man who left his job for the love of making coffee, and today he satisfies the taste buds of hundreds of coffee drinker in Thimphu- I am yet to step in for the best cup of coffee…

On the dinner table we were held spellbound by how we were already connected through our interests long before our first union. “The coffee maker and the blogger…” would be an interesting topic to start a short story…

Snowfall in Yangthang

Snowfall in Yangthang has always been a big inspiration. I completed a collection of short story under the title 'Snowfall in Yangthang'. I always wanted a photograph for my cover page; thanks to the New Year eve snowfall and my presence in my village, now I have the best picture for my cover page.

Trying my hands on Photography with inspiration from Yeshey Dorji

My Village Yangthang 

The First light on the virgin Snow

My Wife and Daughter (Just 32 Days old. It's her first morning in Yangthang and her first snowfall experience)